


007 (Tom Holland AU)

by Sheena_Stalwart



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Get Smart - All Media Types, Hollanders - Fandom, James Bond - All Media Types, tom holland - Fandom
Genre: 007, 99 - Freeform, Action, Agent 99 - Freeform, Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Ass-Kicking, Badass Reader, Betrayal, British Intelligence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, FSB, Get Smart references, James Bond References, Plot, Q - Freeform, Reader as 99, Russian Mafia, Spy - Freeform, Spy Tom Holland, Tom Holland as 007, Vesper Lynd inspired, agent 007, cute and smutty, double agent, goofy spy tactics, m - Freeform, mission, reader - Freeform, team work, tom holland - Freeform, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheena_Stalwart/pseuds/Sheena_Stalwart
Summary: This story imagines Tom Holland as 007! The reader takes up an identity similar to that of agent 99 in Get Smart (the old tv show, not the movie). However, 99 is a sleeper cell living in England to infiltrate the agency to protect Russian mafia activity that is secretly condoned by the Kremlin. 007 is a renowned spy with some goofy and uncouth methods, but M thinks he needs and babysitter and makes him pair up with the Reader who is responsible but a green field agent. A rough and rocky start that potentially leads to a smutty romance? (Yes)





	1. INTRO from a NARRATOR'S POV

NARRATOR POV:

Moscow Easter Festival:  Moscow, Russia

Agent 007 sits outside of the Mariinsky Theater. He sips black coffee from a disposable travel cup. His black sunglasses conceal his tired eyes. His three piece, black Tom Ford suit helps him blend in with the illustrious passersby. He loosens his skinny black tie. He feels like it’s choking him. 

He glances down at his watch: 17:00.

The performance doesn’t start until 19:00.

But he isn’t here to watch the ballet. Although, it’s apparently one of the best in the world. 

He’s here to find Mr. Petrov. One of the puppeteers in an intricate web of Russian infiltration in England. His daughter, Olya, is a big fan of ballet. There was almost no chance that he wouldn’t show up. He may or may not have been responsible for the collapse of several English banks… but Olya with her big blue eyes, had him on a leash for every major ballet event in western Russia. 

007 runs a hand through his curls, observing the beautiful sunset. The pastel colors in the sky match those of the giant painted Easter eggs that speckle the city. 

He hears a calamity from behind. An inconspicuous glance around confirms a scuffle in the dumpster area towards the back of the theater. The two men have at it, one of them ends up unconscious, slumped against the wall. The winner enters the theater through a backdoor that he leaves propped open with an empty plastic water bottle.

It would seem that he is expecting someone to join him in a few moments. Giving another glance around, 007 takes advantage of the opportunity to follow a suspicious character that may lead him to Petrov. He dumps the empty coffee cup in the dumpster, takes off his sunglasses and checks the pulse of the unconscious man. He’ll live. 

He opens the door and slips through silently, kicking the water bottle away from the door. Whoever intended to follow that man was going to have to find another way. 

He finds himself backstage. It’s dark, props are everywhere and the sound of hustle and bustle echos a little further down to his left. He finds himself entering a costume room and then a dressing room. The half-dressed ballerinas pay him no mind as they rush around caking makeup on their faces.

The man was clearly not here. 

007 pushes his way through to the door at the other end of the room, hoping he isn’t too late to follow the man’s trail. 

A tall, blonde ballerina with her ribs protruding from her leotard catches the agent’s eye. She stands by the exit door, eyeing him curiously. She knows he’s out of place. He puts on his best charming smile, hoping that she wouldn’t raise any alarms. 

As he approaches the door, she steps in front of it, her blue eyes piercing into his. Her arms crossed she says, «Что вы хотите?»

007 laughs politely and flashes her a sexy smile- he has no idea what she just said. He doesn’t know a lick of Russian. 

He rests his hands on her arms and gently moves her aside replying with the only Russian phrase he can remember at the moment- «Я люблю тебя» and exits. 

Before the door closes, he hears her gasp with surprise. Now he really wishes he knew what he just said to her… he hopes it wasn’t mean. She was very beautiful, afterall. 

He sees the man he was following just disappear around a corner. So he picks up the pace. He is almost certain that this man is a lacky that will lead him to Mr. Petrov. He caught a glimpse of the man’s watch and it is the same style and brand that is a staple of Petrov’s men.

Following the man’s path, 007 finds himself in another costume room. Racks and racks of dresses and tutus, glitter and sequins.

Suddenly, the door behind him flies open. 007 spins on his heels- prepared for anything. 

It’s the blonde ballerina from earlier. She’s crazy eyed and lunges for him. 007 braces for an attack, but she merely wraps her legs around his waist and starts whispering sweet nothings into his ear. They were truly sweet nothings because he understood- NOTHING.

Now, he really wonders what he possible could’ve said to her moments ago. 

She starts kissing his neck and pulling at his tie. He might have no idea what she said, but he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what she wants...

007, is at a crossroads and becomes quite conflicted. He doesn’t want to lose the man’s trail but he also doesn’t want to pry this gorgeous ballerina off his chest. She could raise alarm and get him caught if he isn’t careful! But let’s face it- raising alarm wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to pull away. He lets his hand rub up and down her tight little body. He kisses her passionately.

Suddenly, the man 007 was following appears in the doorway at the other end of the room. Th man shouts in Russian and the ballerina picks her head up in surprise. The man is holding a bouquet of red roses which he throws dramatically to the ground. She shouts back apologetically falling away from 007’s arms. 

What 007 would not know until much later was that the ballerina was expecting to meet a secret admirer she had been writing to for months. They were going to meet face to face for the first time before the show in her dressing room. The man walked passed the dressing room only to retrieve the roses for her first. While he was part of Petrov’s crew that was responsible for a London bank bombing- he had no intention of meeting up with the kingpin tonight. This unlucky night was strictly for romancing his ballerina. The phrase 007 uttered to her earlier translates to, “I love you,” hence her great confusion when he immediately walked away-  and also why she jumped on him. 007 was able to successfully capture the surprised mob member but it was no dice for getting more intel on Mr. Petrov. 

He gave the ballerina his number, but it’s safe to say she won’t be calling anytime soon. Not after he knocked out her boyfriend... 

The night’s mission was a complete failure and headquarters wasn’t going to be happy. Especially, since he wasn’t supposed to take on this mission alone…

  
  



	2. Someone's in Trouble...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NARRATOR'S POV

NARRATOR'S POV

 

“How bad is it?” 007 asks pausing for a moment at the secretary desk. He leans on an elbow casually, his suit unbuttoned. 

 

Miss Moneypenny looks up from her paperwork with wide eyes. And shakes her head quickly

 

“...that bad, huh…” he says, making a face like a bad taste was left in his mouth. He glances to the closed door of M’s office. “Can I go in?” He asks pointing to the door.

 

“...At your own risk, agent…” she says softly. 007 takes a deep breath as he grabs the door handle. “Godspeed!” Miss Moneypenny shouts and he swings open the door. 

 

M sits at her desk. Her black suit crisp. Her steely grey hair cropped short, groomed neaty. Even the pens on her desk are orderly. All the same brand, lined up with perfect. 

 

007 shuts the door behind him as quietly as he can. It would be a shame to even disturb the air and silence in M’s office. 

 

He runs his hands through his hair pushing back some of the resistant curls. He lets out a nervous chuckle and cracks a joke, “Miss me, M, didn’t you?” 

 

Her serious storm-grey eyes followed the agent without a hint of response as he traversed the room to sit in the hot seat opposite of her desk. 007 plops causally into the leather conference chair. He acts as if his causal approach will somehow lighten the blow that is surely to strike next. 

 

“007,” She starts in an emotionless tone. 

 

The agent winces like a boy about to get chewed out by his mother. 

 

“I am beyond disappointed in you-“

 

“I know!” He interjects sitting forward.  

 

She raises a finger and he recoils. 

 

“Do not interrupt me, agent,” she continues, “You were supposed to wait until you were given orders. Wait until there was a guarantee. And you were not supposed to go on that mission alone. Now I want to ask you… why?”

 

“Well… you see-“

 

“Did you think you were more intelligent than the whole agency combined?-”

 

“-No! Of course not! I just-“

 

“Did you not trust that we had plans? You showed our cards. You could’ve compromised yourself! This whole agency!”

 

“Hey! I got one guy! I got-“

 

“Ah, yes! One man. One minor minion. We had plans to get the whole regime if only you had been patient and waited for your orders!”

 

“I- I’m sorry-“

 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it this time,” she booms, “We have to start all over. From scratch. They caught on to us. Months of intelligence work has been spoiled by your little stunt…”

 

“Am I suspended?...” he asked in a broken voice. Glancing down at his polished shoes which glinted in the fluorescent light. He bit his inner lip. He loved his job more than anything. One might say that he was nothing without his job. He didn’t have much of a family these days. This agency was his home. 

 

“...Unfortunately- we cannot suspend you due to your critical knowledge of this mission. However, you will be greatly restricted by every means possible… starting with your work expenditures…”

 

“What?” 

 

“We’re giving you a partner.”

 

“I really don’t think that’s necessary..”

 

“Oh, but it is- 007. I have already assigned you one. She’s a recent hire and I think she has a lot to learn from a more seasoned veteran like yourself. However, I trust her to be more responsible- she’ll be like a babysitter of sorts for you-“

 

“I don’t need to be babysat by some trainee! What does that even mean?” 

 

“She’ll be in charge of the money spent on the agency’s dime. Every meal. Every hotel. Every DRINK.” The percussive “k” added an element of personal attack on the agents large lifestyle in the field. He realized he was constantly stretching the bounds of what expenses the company paid for. He usually got away with it when he flashed his handsome smile at the accountant who would fudge some numbers for him. 

 

Looks like M caught on to the little sharade and responded to his look of surprise with, “Don’t think that handsome face of yours will let you get away with everything. I especially don’t think that kind of thing will fly with your new partner. I wouldn’t expect her to swoon at your charm. She’s quite strong-headed.”

 

“Well, we’ll see about that!” The agent smiled. His pride swelled again in his chest as he took an uneasy breath of relief. At least he wasn’t suspended. It could’ve been much worse. “When will I meet this lucky lady?”

 

“She should be arriving any minute now,” M says. Her expression softens. She can’t help respect 007’s resiliency. His ability to bounce back from 

any amount of ball-chopping. He knew his worth. 

 

Just then, there is a knock at the door. 

 

“Come in,” M shouts. 

 

The door swings open and Y/N walks in. Her black suit looked new. Her loafers barely scuffed. She reeked of recent hire. Although she didn’t shy away a from M as most new agents did. She strutted across the room without an iota of hesitation, taking the seat next to the seasoned agent. 

 

007’s first impression was that she was prettier than he expected. He supposed he wouldn’t mind faking a couple with her in public. It was within the realm of believability that she was in his league, albeit the lower end. But that’s all that can be expected when being compared to such perfection. 

 

007 thought for sure that he could schmooze her. He was nearly certain. With that movie star hair and those field-ready muscles how could she not?

 

M gestured to handsome agent, “This is agent 007.”

 

007 reached out for a hand shake. He smiled, his charm set on stun, “I’m Holland. Tom Holland.” 

 

Y/n raised her eyebrow suspiciously as she shook his hand and replied, “I’m 99.” 

 

“I’m sorry… I didn’t catch your real name.”

 

“You can call me 99 until we assume other identities,” she stated plainly. 

 

“Oh,” 007 recoiled awkwardly from the exchange. He supposed be didn’t do the smile quite right or perhaps his hair was out of place. He smoothed it down for good measure. He rewound the exchange in his head several times as M gave details about the mission that he should’ve been listening to. The only logical conclusion he could come up with was that she was a lesbian! How else could she resist is Adonis-like physique? 

 

He suddenly wondered what her type was if it wasn’t him. What more could she possibly want? A sudden rip began to tear into his ego. Something about her rejection was alluring. Challenging. Worthwhile. He wondered what she looked like beneath all the piom and pressed layers of her cotton nylon blend. Would she take the reins? Her demeanor certainly suggests that, but what if she was one of those girls that secretly loves to be tied up and choked. He wondered what her heart would feel like racing against his as the hotel headboard banged a dent into the wall. He could teach her a thing or two, he supposed. 

 

M dismissed the two for a gear upgrade with Q. 

 

“007…” y/n called, “ 007…” she repeated again. 

 

007 shook off his daydream, “Hm?”

 

“Let’s go… Q is waiting!” She said with an edge of frustration. 

 

She thought surely that this would be the worst partner of her career. She preferred to work alone as it was. 

 

However, the two of them could not have predicted the whirlwind that laid before them. The story of hate, lust, love, duty and betrayal. 

 

Thus began the adventures of 99 and 007.

  
  



	3. Conflict of Interest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y/N's POV STARTS!

Y/N’s POV:

What a cocky little asshole, you think to yourself.  This mission was going to feel like eternity with this glorified GQ model trying to schmooze his way through everything. 

 

You feel confident in your profiling of him. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Mommy’s little angel. Daddy’s good sport. Popular kid with charm. Never went stag to school dance. Despite being educated in the finest prep schools growing up but hasn’t touched a book in years. He’s a megalomaniac. And it’s bound to get you both in trouble. 

 

You couldn’t possibly relate this man. This man who squandered everything that was handed to him. You were a sleeper cell. Groomed for espionage, masquerading as a Sussex native.

 

Your father was a valued member of the FSB. He was responsible for the apartment bombings in Moscow that launched Putin’s excuse to start the Second Chechen War. The trust, stealth and allegiance to the Kremlin are what sparked his reassignment to England. 

 

While you were born in Moscow, you have since become a naturalized citizen. You can barely remember the Fatherland, although you’ve held on to your native tongue. That was perhaps your most appealing quality to the agency. You were bilingual with an authentic accent. 

 

Your ties and training were latent until about a year ago when you were called to action by the Kremlin. This would be your first and possibly last act of infiltration. Your sole duty to your birth country. An honor to your late father’s legacy. You were determined to make them proud. Duty until death. 

 

Your true purpose in this mission was to deliver intel back the Kremlin. You were to protect Mr. Petrov and his gang at all costs should the situation arrive. But stealth was key. 

 

007 lead you down the winding corridors. Fancy doors with security opening and closing behind you. 007 walked like he owned the place, passing agents bending out of his way in awe. 

 

Finally you reached a lift. One that went several stories into the ground. Into the bunker level of the building. That’s where Q would be waiting for you two. 

 

007 tapped impatiently on his Rolex as the elevator slowly descended. You rolled your eyes at the way he dripped with privilege. When the elevator doors opened, he gestured to let you out first, flashing a toothy grin. Ever the gentleman. It was getting obnoxious. 

 

“Ah, 007! And 99, I presume?” Chimed a voice from your periphery. 

 

You turn to see a young man walking towards you. He had boyish demeanor and messy dark brown hair. He has a modest but still handsome face. He had rectangular plastic framed glasses, and an angular jawline adorned with stubble and razor burn. He hunched his shoulders as he bent over a tablet, viciously tapping at the screen. 

 

When he stops in front of you he finally glances up from the screen for a moment and does a double take. His crystal blue eyes widen when they land on yours. For a moment he stutters trying to start his spiel. You feel a heat rise in your cheeks as you suppress a pleased smile. 

 

You can feel 007 shift tensely beside you. But it’s only a moment before he springs forth with that overwrought charm. 

 

“Q! Mate, it’s been a while!” He exclaims as he puts his arm around Q and whips him around to face away from you and walk towards the lab, “I see those spots of yours have been clearing up! Have you moved out of your mum’s place yet?”

 

“Uh- no… I’m still working on that..” Q muttered. 

 

“Must be terribly awkward to bring home ladies…”

 

“Oh- well- uhh… you know that opportunity doesn’t really come up that much anyway,” Q replies sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. 

 

“Ah! That’s alright, mate! No shame in quietly wanking off to your computer screen while your mum’s asleep…” 007 chuckled light-hearty. However, Q looked deeply uncomfortable as you trailed behind them, witnessing the overly personal conversation. 

 

“Hey- uh- why don’t I just show you the new gear I have for you… We can chat about my love life some other time..” Q says quickly trying to change the subject. 

 

Q rolls out the works. Guns that only fire with your finger prints. Knife tipped loafers. Smoke bombs. Then an array of unnecessarily gendered weapons like lipstick poison, necklace cameras and taser rings. 

 

You test some of the weapons out in a shooting range. 

 

“Watch and learn, darling” 007 purrs and then proceeds to hit the dummy between the eyes. 

 

You load your weapon and take aim. You strike the exact same bullet hole that 007 just made. 

 

You turn to him with a satisfied smirk, “I guess I’m a quick learner” you shrug. 

 

007’s jaw is on the floor. Q suppresses a laugh. You exchange a meaningful look with him, he feels redeemed that Mr. Perfect was just outshined. 

 

Once again, 007 turns Q around by the shoulders and leads him away. He says, “Well, Q- looks like we won’t be needing much target practice. We really better get going. We have important field work to do- you couldn’t possibly understand- but it was nice seeing you again!” 

 

At the lift, 007 tapped his foot impatiently waiting for the doors to open. 

 

You turn to Q with a friendly smile as held your hand out for a shake, “It was nice meeting you.”

 

He takes your hand and it lingers, “I hope to see you soon, 99.”

 

It stings. You can’t possibly go for this. You’re a traitor to this country. Any involvement with this nice man would surely end in a horrific and untimely death for him. 

 

Just then the doors slide open. 007 jumps in quickly and shouts, “Oh- the lift’s here! 99- hurry up- let’s go!” He says waving you in. 

 

You scurry in, breaking away from Q. When the doors close 007 says, “That Q is such a chatterbox. Sorry about that…” 

 

There is a silent pause. 

 

007 clears his throat, “I- uh- look forward to getting to know you better on this mission…” 

  
  



	4. A Paper Airplane

You head back to your desk to tackle the monumental amount of paperwork that has to be done. Field work was fun but it came with a killer bureaucratic price. The office started to slowly empty out after 6pm rolled around.

 

Flight to Turkey booked. The agency thinks Mr. Petrov has ties with the Russian jihadists. Well planned fake clues seem to be doing their job.

 

Suddenly, you hear a whoosh and a prick at your shoulder. 

 

You jump a bit startled. It’s a paper airplane. 

 

You pick it up and throw down on your desk as you continue to make your way through paperwork. 

 

You had an inkling as to who it was from and you were not the least bit interested in whatever terse message was written on it. 

 

“Psst!” you heard from behind. 

 

You ignored it. 

 

“Psst!” once again. 

 

You gave no attention to the disturbance. You pressed print for some documents that needed to be signed.  

 

When you stood up to walk to the printer you saw 007 sitting in a chair out in the aisle a few rows down from your workspace. 

 

He wore the face of a child as he question, “Did you read my note?”

 

“No,” you said curtly turning away and heading towards the nearest printer. 

 

You could hear 007 slump in his chair with frustration. He was upset that you weren’t playing his little game. That you weren’t absolutely charmed by his childish antics and devastatingly good looks. 

 

When you get back you see that 007 has rolled his desk chair all the way to your cubicle and the paper airplane is laid out flat on your keyboard. He flashes you a mischievous smile. You scoff as you settle back down in your chair. Angrily, you snatch up the note and read it. 

 

“Drinks?” was all it said. 

 

You crumble up the note and toss it in your trash can with a heavy sigh and continue to focus on your work.

 

In your periphery you see the mischievous smile slowly melt of his face. 

 

“So?...” he asks. 

 

You sigh, “Actually, while you’re here- I need you to sign these papers…” and you hand him a couple pages from the stack you just printed. 

 

He grabs a pen from your desk and scrawls his signature on the marked lines. 

 

“Did you even read what it says?” you ask. 

 

“...No…” he says.

 

You give him a slightly appalled look. 

 

“What? You’re my partner! I’m supposed to trust you with my life! I trust you enough to sign papers without reading them…”

 

Well that’s a huge mistake that will certainly bite him in the ass later. Now you secretly wished you made him sign some kind of contract to keep his mouth shut during the plane ride… But you suppose that it’s best to keep him trusting you as much as possible for the FSB’s sake. 

 

You turn back to your computer and hope that if you ignore him he’ll eventually go away. But to your dismay he opens his mouth, “So… Drinks when you’re done?” 

 

“I’m not interested,” you state. 

 

“Come on! It’ll be fun! It’s not a date or anything- I just want to get to know you a little better before we go on an international mission together…”

 

He had a fair point and perhaps getting him liquored up might make him forget that there is still information about this mission that is above your classification. 

 

It’s really not wise for secret agents to drink- EVER. Especially if you were a sleeper cell. But perhaps one beer wouldn’t hurt if it meant squeezing information out of this imbecile. 

 

“Please…” he pleaded with those big brown eyes. 

 

Suddenly his face seemed to tell a different story. He wasn’t trying to slyly hit on you or make you interested in him. He might genuinely have no one else to grab a late night dinner with. The look in his eyes reflected a loneliness that you could feel in your bones. 

 

After the “accidental” death of your mother and untimely demise of your father, you felt very alone in this country. Anytime you started to make friends, you reminded yourself to keep a distance. Getting too close would make them a pressure point if you were ever unsure of carrying out a mission. In lieu of that, you made sure to only get really close to people you secretly hated or those who were also sleeper cells for the FSB.

 

This 007 guy seemed pretty safe to get close to. He was arrogant and annoying. You could afford his expendable fake friendship. Plus it would keep up appearances that you are cooperating with the agency’s plans for you. 

 

You sigh, “Fine… I’ll go out for ONE drink.”

  
  



	5. Show Your Cards

You go out for drinks and a late night bite at The Black Dog. 

 

“You know what I like- I’ll have a gin martini. Shaken, not stirred,” 007 says cooly to the bartender as he takes to the stool. 

 

“I’ll have a Peroni Nastro Azzurro…” you say. 

 

“Nice choice!” 007 compliments. He then proceeds to drone on about how he’s a regular. Everyone knows him. It’s like bloody Cheers. Although the corners of his eyes tinged with a hint of sadness. 

 

He orders an appetizer and another drink, while you slowly work on your single beer. He blabbers on until you are certain that he just talks to her the sound of his own voice. However, you note that nothing he says is of much substance. It’s all surface level. Sports, movies, what he ate for lunch yesterday, an odd conversation he heard on the Tube last week. Curiously, no mention of friends or family. Perhaps that was a byproduct of being so self-interested. 

 

He droned on and on as you listened and waited patiently. You were waiting for him to run out of things to say. For him to perhaps suck all the air out of the room. You wanted him to run through every small talk subject he could think of so that he would inevitably have to dig deeper. Slip up. Talk about work or something that could give you an edge over him. 

 

It was almost disappointing to hear how many small talk subjects he could think of. This man was a walking conversation starter and he seemed to pay no mind to the fact that you haven’t spoken a word. It was as if he was content to have a conversation all by himself. He makes hardly any eye contact and fiddles with the food remaining on his plate. For all he cared, you could be a mirror. You almost chuckled to yourself when you remember that he took you out under the guise of “wanting to get to know you better”. Yet, here he was yammering on about The IT Crowd and you haven’t uttered more than a, “yeah,” since you sat down. 

 

He’s on his fifth martini as sweat starts to bead his forehead. He downed his drinks awfully fast, but you weren’t about to stop him. He used the beverage napkin to dab at his brow. You remember how relieved the bartender seemed when he realized that you had come with 007. He probably comes here alone often and chews the bartender’s ear off. 

 

Each drink slows him down, yet he tries his damnedest to keep the conversation going. Until eventually he huffs, “My! You’re a quiet one aren’t you? I feel like I’m talking to myself!”

 

His eyes flit to yours and then quickly back to the bartop. You held his eyes long enough to see something new in them. There was a nervousness that seemed so out of character for the favored hunk. 

 

It appears that your disregard of his charm has cracked his facade. It’s finally sunk in under his skin and now he doesn’t know how to handle it. 

 

He asks the bartender for check and you notice that he is trying to put it on the company card. 

 

“Whoa, no you don’t!” you tell him snatching the card out of his grasp. 

 

He looks appalled, “But it was a work dinner!” 

 

“No, it wasn’t!”

 

“Yes, it was! I had food! It counts!” he retorts. 

 

“But going out with a coworker does not qualify this as a business expense,” you explain, “We’re not on our mission yet and you are certainly not going to charge all those martini’s to the business account!”

 

“Why not?” he says a bit offended, “I’ve been doing this for years!”

 

“Then you’ve been doing it wrong for years. Besides, I’m in charge of our travel expense now, remember?”

 

“Ahh…” he sighs, “That’s right, you’re my babysitter…” The way his says “babysitter” sounds spiteful as if he were a child complaining to his mother that he was old enough to stay home by himself. 

 

For the slightest second, you feel bad for the poor arrogant fellow. When the bartender comes back around you quickly pull out your personal card to cover the full charge. 007 is taken by surprise and tries to stop you but you shoo the bartender away before 007 can take out his wallet. 

 

“You really didn’t have to do that, darling. I could’ve paid for myself,” he says, “Here, let me pay you back-”

 

“No!” you insist just wishing for the gesture to be overlooked, “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.”

 

A sudden sultry smile appears on his face and he bears resemblance to a classic Disney prince, “So does this mean that you’ve taken me out for a date?” he says wiggling his eyebrows. 

 

“No,” you say sternly. “It means that I pity a man that drinks 6 martinis at a bar on Tuesday night.”

His eyes flash with a strike of pain but he is quick to recover back into full charm mode. 

 

As you exit, he holds the door open for you. A true gentlemen- or at least he is pretending to be. 

 

You begrudgingly accept to share a taxi on the way home. Once you slide in, you refuse to give the driver your address and insist that 007 be dropped off first. 

 

007 gives you a hurt look and tries to laugh it off, “Do you not trust me to know where you live? Are you worried that I am going to stalk you?”

 

“No,” you say coldly, “I would just prefer to keep my home life private from my work life.” 

 

It wasn’t untrue, but there was more to it than that. As a double agent the more you kept in the dark about your personal life the better. You wanted to be as plain and as unknown as possible. The plain part wasn’t all that hard…

 

The ride was long and quiet. It seemed that 007 had given up on talking your ear off. He seemed discouraged to ask you any questions after you refused to let him know where you lived. He stared solemnly out the window watching the streetlights fly by. A spring storm started to pour down. 

 

The car pulled up to a nice flat in Kingston, not all that far from your own. 007 turned to you and stuck out his hand for a shake. 

 

You obliged and he held onto your hand as he said, “Well, I’d say it was nice getting to know you- but truth be told I still don’t know a damn thing. It would seem you want to keep it that way. But I still look forward to working with you! And I hope one day, you will trust me enough and realize that I’m not really all that bad of a guy. See you tomorrow, 99.”

 

“Goodnight, 007,” you reply. He gives you a tight lipped smile before he finally releases your hand and exits the vehicle. 

 

You watch him scurry across the street, head bent down, as he splashed through the puddles. At the front door of the lobby he turned around to give one last wave and dejected smile.

 

You give the driver you address. You can’t help but imagine what kind of life 007 was coming home to. The building complex seemed much nicer than yours but home is more than just a building. 

 

You wondered if he had any pictures in his home. If there was absolutely anyone he cared about enough to put into a frame. You wondered if he had a king bed that he slept in alone every night. If every morning he only ever has to make up that one side of the bed. You wondered if he had a dish set that could accommodate more than four people. You start to question if he would ever have the need for more than that. 

 

This highly popular, revered and handsome character was panning out to be a more complicated creature than you originally thought.   

  
  



	6. Jerry and Julia; Definitely Not Jerry and Elaine

It’s 5am and you sharing an agency cab to the London Stansted Airport.

 

“So!” 007 starts and you scoff loudly and turn towards the window, “What is our cover story going to be for the flight?”   
  


“007. It’s early. I haven’t had coffee yet. Could you manage to be quiet for once in your life?” you snap, talking into the glass. 

 

In your periphery you see that he pulls a thermos out of his bag and hands it to you. You turn to face him and there is a soft and apologetic look in his brown eyes. 

 

As annoying and repulsive as he is, there was something in those eyes that made it almost impossible to stay mad at him. 

 

He glances down at the thermos and then back to you, waiting for you to accept his kind gesture. 

 

“I don’t want to steal your coffee,” you say softly. 

 

“You’re not stealing it! I’m offering it to you… You seem to need it more than I do,” he chuckles. 

 

You roll your eyes at him. But nevertheless- it was true. And you were going to need coffee as soon as possible if you were going to have to put up with him at this hour. 

 

You grab the thermos from him and take a sip. He watches you as if waiting for some kind of reaction. You nod in his direction, indicating that it was decent coffee. 

 

However, he seems to take it as a sign that he can start yapping again. As soon as he opens his mouth, you realize the mistake and hold a finger up to silence him. He closes his mouth with a disappointed sigh. 

 

You start taking bigger sips of coffee as the car ride continues. You’re going to need it.

 

After arriving at the airport, collecting your tickets and bypassing security with your clearance badges, 007 insists that he is an expert at navigating the airport. He reminds you that he travels all the time for international missions. You just roll your eyes and try to tune him out. 

 

Sitting in the terminal, he leans in close to whisper something but your reflexes cause you to jump back. His shoulders slump at your visceral reaction, “I was just trying to whisper something…” he says with a resigned sigh. 

 

“I know,” you say, “And I’d like to avoid that.” He presses his lips in a tight and agitated smile. “Alright, fine. What is it?” you say leaning in. 

 

He leans in much closer than he needs to, his hands cupping around your ear like a child playing a game of telephone. His breath felt hot and humid against your skin as he whispered, “I decided what our cover story is going to be-”

 

“No!” you say aloud, “That’s absolutely unnecessary. No one’s going to ask. If they did, we could just tell them the truth- it’s a business-”

 

“SHHH!” he shushes you and leans in to whisper, “I’m the seasoned agent here, 99. I know these things. But it’s always better to have an elaborate- but not too elaborate- cover story prepared so that you don’t get caught off guard. Come on, 99, I am supposed to be teaching you the tricks of the trade and I swear this is one of them! I don’t want to write you a bad report to M…”

 

You sigh, “Okay. Tell me the story.”

 

“Alright,” he whispers again, “So I’m Jerry and you’re Julia. I’m a stand-up comedian trying to make it big in London. You’re my former girlfriend- but we’re still really close friends. And we’re meeting up with our other friends Jason, who is actually my best friend- no offense to you- and Michael, who is my nosy neighbor in Istanbul… Got it?”

 

You pause for a moment, “...And why are we flying nearly 4 hours to meet up with your best friend and neighbor?” 

 

“Uh- good point!” he whispers, “...It’s because they’re coming to see my comedy show!” 

 

“Really? So they went all the way to Istanbul before you… to see your show? And why wouldn’t they just see one of your shows in London since that’s where you are ‘trying to make it big’ anyway…”

 

“Uhhh- well- uhh- you see- they wanted to get a head start on a holiday! But you had work and I decided to-”

 

“-Wait!” you interrupt, “You’re just ripping off Seinfeld!” 

 

“SHH!!” he hushes, “Don’t give us away!” 

 

You lean in to whisper back to him and he seems all too eager to get close, “That’s a terrible plan. People- if they ever even bothered to ask- would definitely pick up that we were lying. Not to mention that no one would ever believe that you were a comedian- you’re not funny.” 

 

007 pulls away and you’ve never seen a more dejected man. He seemed more hurt by the comment than you would’ve expected. 

 

“I’m sorry… uh- Jerry…” you apologize. He gives a half-hearted smile in response. 

 

007 keeps to himself until it’s time to board the flight and you feel bad for crushing his spirit.

 

You brief over the safety manual and buckle in tight. You give 007 the window seat… you’d hate the feeling of being trapped and cornered by him. 

 

The plane starts to move towards the runway and you take a deep breath. Your palms start to sweat as you girp the arms of the seat. 

 

“What’s wrong?” 007 asks. 

 

“Nothing,” you say flatly, staring straight ahead. 

 

“You’re not afraid of flying, are you?-”

 

“-I’m not afraid!” you say quickly, “...I just- don’t like it… that’s all.” 

 

“Well, you’ll be fine… I fly this airline all the time and so far I haven’t seen one person get dragged off!” he jokes. 

 

You remain silent, focusing on your breathing. 

 

In the corner of your eye you see his face shift to a more serious expression, “You know you don’t have to worry, right? The security is pretty good at catching things and- you know- we can handle whoever else might be on here…” he says quietly. 

 

“It’s not that,” you assert, “I just don’t like being so high up in the sky- it's just- not natural! And I hate that my fate is in someone else’s hands.”

 

007 grabs your hand and says, “Look at me,” reluctantly you do and the look in his eyes is genuine and kind, “We’re going to be alright. I do this all the time. You’re more likely to be in a car crash than a plane crash.” Then he leans in to whisper, “And if for some reason this plane starts to go down- I promise I will let you finally shoot me in the face for your last moment of satisfaction.” 

 

You laugh and for a few seconds don’t feel so bad. He smiles at you and you let him give your hand a squeeze. Before he can release your hand you take hold of his. He looks shocked so you respond, “Just until take off is over…”

 

An old lady from across the aisle leans in and asks, “Are you two a couple?”

 

“No,” 007 replies quickly, “She’s my ex girlfriend- but we’re still really good friends. I’m Jerry and she’s Julia, it’s nice to meet you! Are you here for business or holiday in Istanbul?”

  
  



End file.
